


The Best Day of My Life

by onecent



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onecent/pseuds/onecent
Summary: The best day of Bucky's life is the day he got his new motorcycle and found a guy on the Brooklyn Bridge.





	1. Red and Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Person A find Person B wandering along the side of the road with a bouquet of roses and a torn suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work does not start out very fluffy and contains what appears for a while to be a suicide attempt. Please read with caution. Later chapters get progressively fluffier.
> 
> Now complete!

_This,_ Bucky decided, running his hand over the sparkling black surface and bright red decals of the motorcycle, _is the best day of my life._ “I think I could come just from looking at her,” he breathed. Then he glanced over at Steve just in time to catch his eye twitch and the slight curl of his lip. Bucky grinned and went back to caressing his bike. “I’ve waited so long for you, baby.”

“If you’re going to be disgusting about it I’m leaving,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Jealous much?” Bucky smiled openly at Steve. He slid his leg over the bike and settled onto the wide seat. His right hand stroked the clean lines of the fuel tank nestled between his knees before drifting up to flip the key into the ‘on’ position. He pulled the clutch with his right hand and hit the start button with the prosthetic on his left hand, waiting for the engine to turn over before settling the prosthetic in place on the handlebars. As the engine warmed up, he hit the gas to rev the engine a few times. He threw his head back at the sound and moaned loudly, shifting slightly in the seat.

He opened his eyes to the narrowest possible slit and looked sidelong at Steve, who looked so uncomfortable that Bucky nearly laughed out loud. “Come on, Steve,” he said, leaving the engine to idle, “you have to admit that she’s beautiful.”

“I’m not admitting anything. I’m going to head inside and leave you alone with your new girlfriend.” Steve turned back to head up the stairs to their apartment building.

“Don’t mind him,” Bucky stage-whispered to his motorcycle. “He’s just sad he’s still stuck on that old Softail.”

“Excuse you?” Steve paused with a hand on the stair railing and his head turned around near fully to glare at Bucky. “You got somethin’ you wanna say about my bike?”

Bucky looked at Steve and raised an eyebrow. “Seeing how I’m sitting on a brand-new custom Street 750...yeah, I’m saying something about your bike.”

“That’s it, get the fuck out of here. Go ride around for a while and get it out of your system so I don’t have to hear you talk about it for the rest of the night.”

“That’s the plan.” Bucky bent to pick his helmet up off the sidewalk. “You willing to help me get this on, or are you still too disgusted by me?”

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically but came over and lifted the helmet up onto Bucky’s head, helping him adjust it and push all his hair away from his eyes. When it was on and buckled in place, he slapped the top of the helmet. “There you go. Now don’t do anything stupid.”

Bucky smiled again, a little weaker this time, and glanced down at his left arm. “Can’t. I’ve used up all my stupid, so you’re the only one with any left.”

“Yeah, well, just in case it’s rubbed off on you. Try not to be back too late.”

“Yeah, I hear you, Mom.” Bucky rolled his eyes and revved the engine again. “I’ll be fine.” He threw up the kickstand, set the bike into gear, peeled away from the curb--

\--and stopped short behind a row of cars caught at a red light on the road in front of their apartment. Oh yeah. Driving in Brooklyn sucked.

Bucky immediately adjusted his plans to involve getting out of the city to where he could take a real joy ride instead of sitting around all the time waiting for idiots to find the gas pedal. It was a couple blocks to the Brooklyn Bridge, then a hellish drive through Manhattan until he could escape out past Newark and into some open road. Not fun, but better than staying in the city.

As he was crossing the Brooklyn Bridge, though, he caught movement from above. One part of his brain immediately dismissed it as some tourist crossing the walkway doing something stupid. Another part of his brain, though, the part that was always on alert for unexpected danger, forced his eyes to look up and track the movement. He found himself watching a man clamber over the fence on the walkway out onto one of the struts over the cars. And once his brain registered that, his hand was already starting to close on the brake.

He slammed to a stop almost directly under the guy, ignoring the car horns blaring behind and around him. Flipping up the visor on his helmet, he shouted, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The man, balanced on the strut with both arms stretched out, jerked and tottered from one side to the other before regaining his balance and glaring down at Bucky. He had something in his hand, and part of it broke off and fluttered to the ground. _Flower petals,_ Bucky realized, before jerking his attention back up to the man, who called down, “Who the hell are you?”

“The asshole trying to keep you from killing yourself, apparently,” Bucky yelled back. “Get off of there!”

“What?” the guy shouted. He cupped a hand around his ear.

The honking around Bucky increased, and he stretched his right hand behind him to flip off the drivers. “Get back on the walkway! I’m not letting you kill yourself!”

The guy shrugged. “Can’t hear you,” he called, and went back to walking out along the strut.

“For chrissakes,” Bucky mumbled. “Stay there!” He shouted one last time, raising his right hand to make a stopping motion, before hitting the gas again and speeding down the road. He dodged between lanes and sped wildly along the bridge. When he reached the far side, he parked his bike as close to the promenade as possible and started running back down the walkway, dodging tourists stopping to take photos all along the way.

A small group of people was gathering near the railing on the left side of the walkway right about halfway down the bridge. Bucky aimed toward it. He caught a couple people calling out to a figure seated on one of the struts. _Jackpot._

“Hey!” Bucky shoved through the group of people to get right up as close as he could to the guy. “Hey! Asshole!”

The guy slowly turned his head and jumped a little at the sight of Bucky. He looked down at the road, tracked back to where the motorcycle was parked, and gazed at Bucky with wide eyes. 

“Yeah! You made me run all the way back here to save your sorry ass. I hope you’re fucking happy!”

Instead of looking sheepish or upset or anything, the man just looked confused. He scooted a little closer on the strut, though, which Bucky counted as a win until the man said, “Can you take your helmet off?”

Bucky had barely realized he had it on. He reached up to pull it off before remembering his prosthetic. He held it up and twisted it, making the specially-designed grip easily visible. “Not really. It’s a bitch to put back on.”

Strut-guy gave a full-body sigh, the flowers in his hand drooping even lower. Then he carefully got to his feet and shuffled back along the strut toward the walkway. The people who had been watching the exchange began to cheer, and some patted Bucky on the back before he shuddered away from them. He stepped back to clear a space for the guy to get back onto the proper side of the railing and kept his eyes on that movement instead of dealing with all the people around him.

Once strut-guy was back on the right side of the railing, the people crowded back in, asking if he needed help, if he had anyone to call, if he wanted to go to a hospital. He looked immediately ready to shut down and head back out over traffic, so Bucky reached in and grabbed the man, pulling him out of the group. “I’ll take it from here,” he told the group. “Thanks.”

Everyone dispersed fairly quickly, nodding at Bucky. Now that the immediate threat was gone and their civic duty complete, they were content to get back to their normal lives. Bucky, though, just stood with his arms crossed over his chest and glared at the guy.

“So?” he asked, tapping a finger against his ribcage.

The man frowned again and leaned in. “I’m serious, man, you’re gonna have to take off the helmet if you want to have a conversation. There’s way too much noise here for me to hear you that clearly.”

“What?”

The man turned his head and tapped at small, purple devices hooked over his ears. Hearing aids, Bucky realized. “I need to read your lips to get what you’re saying. Take off the helmet.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky grumbled. He reached up again to his helmet, though, and started to shove it off. He held it by the face in his right hand and shook his head to get some of the loose hairs out of his eyes. “There, happy now?”

The guy froze for a moment, his eyes wide and mouth gaping slightly, before nodding. “Yeah, thanks. Sorry, sort of zoned out for a minute there. Anyway. What did you have to say that was so important you came all the way back here for?”

“I was trying to stop you from killing yourself! I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“From--? I wasn’t going to kill myself.”

“Then what the fuck were you doing climbing out over traffic on the Brooklyn Bridge?!”

“I like being in high places.” The guy shrugged. “I see better up there. More...clarity.”

“And you couldn’t have just gone to, I don’t know, the top of an apartment building? Or fuckin’ tried the Empire State Building or some shit? What the fuck do you even need to be out here for that you need all this extra _clarity_?”

The guy’s face fell, and he looked down at the beat-up bunch of black and red roses in his hand. “My brother died,” he said quietly.

Before Bucky could think of something to say to that, a man behind them cleared his throat. “Hey, guys, would you mind moving a little bit? We’d like to get a photo right there.” His family, which included a brightly smiling wife and a couple of unenthusiastic teenagers, responded with various degrees of excitement in the affirmative.

“You know what,” Bucky said, forcing on a fake smile, “we were just leaving. Come on.” He hooked his helmet over his left arm and grabbed strut-guy by the wrist with his right hand before heading back to where his bike was parked.

“Uh, I live that way,” the man said, pointing over his shoulder.

“And my bike’s over here, and I’m not done being pissed at you, so we’re going this way.”

“Sorry, only caught about half of that. Can you look--”

Bucky came to an abrupt halt and pulled the guy in close. “You made me leave my new motorcycle parked in Manhattan so that I could come up here and not-save your sorry ass, so now you’re coming with me so I can get my bike and then drag you back to my apartment so you can sit on the roof and bitch with someone like a normal human instead of giving people heart attacks by climbing around on bridges. Capische?”

He turned again and tried to start walking, but the guy wouldn’t budge. Bucky looked back at him with a weary sigh.

“Why?” the guy asked, seeming genuinely puzzled.

“Why what?”

“Why are you spending so much time on me?”

“Fuck if I know,” Bucky grumbled with a shrug and started walking again. This time the other man followed without complaint. 

They trailed back toward Manhattan, and when they reached the end of the walkway Bucky immediately headed for his motorcycle. “I don’t have another helmet,” he said, throwing a leg over the seat. “So don’t do anything stupid.”

He attempted to manipulate the helmet back onto his head, but with only one thumb he kept struggling to get both the helmet balanced and the hair out of his face, no matter how many times he shook it back. In the middle of trying to hold the helmet steady with his left hook while his right hand swept his hair back, he jumped at the feeling of fingers on the back of his neck.

“There,” the guy said, sweeping calloused fingers across Bucky’s temples to gather the loose wisps and hold them at the back of his neck. “Try it now.”

Bucky pushed the helmet on fully. He turned to look over at his companion and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Get on,” he huffed.

The bike took the extra weight with ease, which was more than Bucky could say for himself. The solid presence against his back was a little disconcerting, not to mention the hands that gently gripped his hips and the thighs framing his ass. It was a lot more contact than he’d had in a while. To stop himself from having second thoughts about the whole thing, he revved the engine loudly before backing out of the space and pulling away to start the trip back to Brooklyn.

They didn’t talk on the trip. Bucky was too busy focusing on driving safely with a prosthetic hand, a new bike, and a passenger without a helmet. Besides, the guy probably wouldn’t be able to hear anything anyway.

It seemed like no time and forever before Bucky pulled up outside his apartment, parking his motorcycle on the sidewalk right up against the building. He waited for the other man to get off first before sliding off himself. He reached up and slowly tugged off his helmet, then lifted the seat of the bike to store it before closing everything up.

“I’m gonna grab a couple of beers from the apartment and then we’ll head up to the roof.” He flipped the keys in his right hand as he walked until he found the one to the front door. “You should probably wait in the hallway. My roommate’s a good guy, but he’s also kind of a shit, and he doesn’t always know when to shut up.”

Bucky resisted the urge to look over his shoulder all the time to see if his rescue was still following. As they clomped up the stairway together it was at least easy enough to catch sight of the guy on the switchbacks and to hear his heavy footsteps in the echoing corridor. When they reached the fourth floor, Bucky detoured to swing by the apartment, calling out to Steve that he was going back out and getting a quick wave in response. Then it was a quick jaunt up the remaining flights to the roof, where Bucky paused to grab a nearby rock and use it to prop open the door so they weren’t locked out.

He turned back to see the other man perched on the outside wall, his feet dangling over the edge. Bucky sighed. It was at least better than being on the Brooklyn Bridge.

“So.” Bucky popped open the first can of beer and passed it over before opening the second for himself. He sat on the edge of the roof as well, but with his feet still safely on the surface. “Your brother died.”

The man nodded and took a sip of his beer. He was still clutching the remains of the rose bouquet in his other hand, but only a few flowers were still intact.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” _Sip._ “He was kind of an asshole. But he was also the only family I had left. I’ve been trying to figure out if I should be more upset about the whole thing.”

“You’re not upset? Because you kind of look pretty messed up.” Bucky gestured towards the battered roses, untied shoelaces, and tattered suit that was fraying at all of its edges.

The guy shrugged. “I guess.”

A couple cats down in the alleyway yowled at each other, and a flock of pigeons took off from the next roof over. Bucky took a long drink of his beer and wished he still smoked.

“What about you, though?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at the man. “What _about_ me?”

“You came back. On the bridge. Why’d you do that?”

“I told you, I don’t--”

“My brother was shot. It wasn’t cancer or anything. He got into some bad shit he couldn’t get out of and he tried to double-cross someone and got caught and now he’s dead, and I sort of feel like he deserved it.” The guy turned to look full-on at Bucky. “Why’d you come back for me on the bridge?”

Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath. “I was in Iraq. We were on patrol, and there was a cliff, and a bomb. We got thrown off.” He looked out over the city, where the lights were starting to show up bright against the darkening twilight. “Nobody could stop me from falling.”

The man nods and turns away. They sit in silence for a while longer, until the sun sets and the lights all come out. Then the man swings his legs back over onto the roof, stands, and stretches.

“Thanks for the beer.”

Bucky doesn’t acknowledge him as he walks away. The lights of the city blink below and around him. Eventually, he turns away and goes inside.


	2. Blindsided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Blind date goes bad for person A, person B to the rescue

Bucky reclined fully in the back corner of the booth, a near-empty bottle of beer dangling from the tips of his fingers. His eyes closed, and he focused on the low hum of the music and people talking around him. A thunk on the table made him creak his eyes open. Steve folded himself into the seat opposite and slid one of the two beers he’d just bought across the table.

“Thanks.” Bucky finished the drink in his hand and set the empty bottle aside before grasping the new one by its neck.

“You doing okay?” Steve asked, casting a quick glance around the room before turning to Bucky with raised eyebrows.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I’m all right.” His eyes drifted closed again. “This is kinda nice.”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve agreed. They sat in silence for a while, sipping their drinks and relaxing into their seats.

Over the calming hum of the background noise of the bar, a few snatches of conversation began to filter through.

“That’s what I told her!”

“Did you see Sanchez in the last game?”

“Look, I’m not trying to sound sexist or anything…”

At this last phrase, Bucky opened his eyes again and glanced over at Steve, who’d suddenly gone stiff in his seat. They both turned their heads incrementally to quietly search out the offender.

“I love my mom, but come on, have you ever met a woman you could trust when that time of the month comes?” There was a loud laugh off to the left, and Steve whipped his head over to glare.

“Stevie,” Bucky said lowly, setting his drink on the table. “Come on, man. Shake it off.”

“Low-life arrogant assholes,” Steve grumbled, but he stayed in his seat. His hand clenched around his beer bottle, and Bucky watched it in fear it might shatter. “Oh he loves his mom, well that’s just great, it’s totally fine that he’s just dismissed half the population as irrational.”

“--it’s just facts! One in every five Muslims is a bomber. I’m glad we’re getting them out of the country. ”

“That’s it.” Steve stood abruptly, slamming his bottle down onto the table.

Bucky scrambled to reach across and grab him. “Steve, come on. Not in the bar. I like this bar. It’s close to our house, and it’s quiet, and I don’t want to have to go--”

“--honestly don’t see how anyone could support them. They’re a mob of violent protestors, and I say anyone who stands with the Black Lives Matter movement _deserves_ to get shot.”

Bucky looked up at Steve in shock. “Okay, but I’m coming with you,” he said, scooting out of the booth.

Steve continued to glare over at the fuckhead a couple tables over, and once Bucky was at his side they stalked over together. There were two men at the table, one who seemed to be doing all the talking while the other appeared to be attempting to melt into his chair. Seeing the apparent victim of all this vitriol, Bucky pulled Steve to a stop again.

“Hold up, let me try something. I wanna try to get him out of the bar first. You know, minimize property damage and the chance of anyone else getting hurt.” He looked pointedly at the other man at the table.

Steve huffed but nodded. He crossed his arms and retreated to stand by a wall, keeping a close eye on the table.

Bucky hunched his shoulders and began to walk around the tables, stumbling slightly. When he neared the asshole’s table, he bumped into it heavily and swung his right arm to make the nearly-full beer glass on the table tip over, spilling into the loudmouth’s lap.

“Mother _fuck_!” the jerk shouted, jumping up. “Fuck you, asshole, you’re buying me another drink. And get someone over here to clean up this mess!” He swiped a few napkins and started to press at the large wet spot on his crotch.

Bucky held up his hand and stepped back a little, still reeling. “Woah, hey man, sorry about that.” He chanced a look at the other man at the table, who was staring up at Bucky with wide eyes and reaching up to his ears. The guy looked a little familiar...

The asshole looked up from drying his pants, and his eyes snagged on the stump of Bucky’s left arm as it waved in the air. He huffed and rolled his eyes. “Well I guess that’s what you expect from a fuckin’ spaz.”

“What the _fuck_?” The other man, who had slowly been straightening up in his seat, shouted loudly. He slammed his hands down on the table and stood up, the chair he was in screeching loudly across the floor. “What the hell did you just say, Brock?”

“The hell are you going on about, Clint?” The asshole, Brock apparently, pointed down at his pants. “Did you miss the part where this idiot managed to spill my drink all over me?”

“Oh, well then.” Clint reached down and grabbed his own half-empty cup and threw it into Brock’s face. “Whoopsie. Guess that makes me a fucking _spaz_ , too.”

Brock’s face went from shock to fury in an instant. “You little _bitch_ ,” he growled.

“You know,” Bucky interrupted, “I didn’t want to mention it out loud, but here I figured I was doing you a favor. I mean, I didn’t want you to embarrass yourself by having to walk out of here after you’d managed to stroke your own _ego_ long enough to literally come in your pants. Guess now you’ve got something to cover up the big manly tears, too, huh?”

Brock roared in fury and swung at Bucky, who ducked and grabbed Clint’s arm. He ran toward the door, and the act of pulling Clint behind him reminded him viscerally of where he knew the guy from.

“You’re the one from the bridge!” Bucky exclaimed as they burst through the back door into the alley. “That’s where I know you from!”

Clint’s eyes widened in recognition. “Motorcycle guy! How’s it been? Have you spent the past couple months just picking bar fights, or have you been spending more time leading strangers up to your roof?”

Brock came charging through the door after them, but right behind _him_ was Steve in all his six-foot-three glory.

“Mostly it’s been riding the motorcycle, actually.” Bucky ducked another wild swing from Brock, focusing all his energy on dodging instead of trying to swing back. He side-stepped again, moving so that Brock would chase him and step right into Steve’s gut punch.

Brock stumbled back from the punch and wheezed. Before Steve could step forward to get another punch in, Clint surged forward and bashed the guy in the jaw. He crumpled to the ground unconscious.

“That was anticlimactic,” Bucky said, kicking a little at Brock’s legs. He looked up at Steve. “How come you never do that?”

“Not everyone’s got a fucking glass jaw, Buck,” Steve said. He also looked a little disappointed, though, and watched Brock for any sign of movement. “You got him good, though. We should probably leave before he wakes up.”

“Yeah, good plan.” Clint went for the door back into the bar. “I gotta close out my tab real quick and leave a spectacularly good tip.”

“Same here,” Steve said. All three headed back inside and up to the bar so Steve and Clint could collect their cards. They left out the front door just as Brock came stumbling in the back, only to be approached by the burliest barkeeper and forced to wait while Steve, Clint, and Bucky walked out.

Once outside, Clint’s eyes flitted back and forth as he checked up and down the street. “Didn’t bring your bike, huh?” he asked Bucky.

“Our apartment’s only a block away,” Steve said. “We just walked. If you need someplace to go, you can come over to our place.”

Clint cast a look over his shoulder. “Yeah, I think that might be a good idea. Just for a bit, anyway.”

“How’d you end up sitting with that guy, anyway?” Bucky asked. He kicked a rock on the sidewalk and watched it bounce in front of him. “He some sort of friend of yours?”

“Nah, it was a blind date. Which is what I get for trying to find guys off the internet, right?”

Bucky turned to Clint, who didn’t seem at all phased at announcing to near total strangers that he had just been on a date with a man.

“That guy was gay?” Steve asked. “And still was talking like that?”

Clint shrugged. “Assholes come in all shapes and orientations. Being oppressed in one way doesn’t mean you can’t be oppressing others, too.”

Steve nodded and said, “Why didn’t you leave earlier, then?”

“Didn’t know how to get out, really. I thought about trying to go to the bathroom and running off, but I was a little worried he’d just follow me in, if you catch my drift.”

There was a haze of red starting to creep in on the edges of Bucky’s vision. He could hear his own loud breathing through his nose, and his fist clenched as he fought to control his anger.

“You know, come to think of it, I don’t think I punched that guy enough,” Steve said, stopping and turning like he was ready to go back.

“Eh, don’t worry about it.” Clint flapped a hand. “I’ve got a friend who’s good at dealing with those kinds of people. And she’s good at not getting in trouble for it, which, big and tough as you two are, I’m not sure you’d manage to stay out of prison if you bashed some guy’s head in.”

Bucky was still tense, and he jerked when a hand fell gently on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at Clint, who bent his head a little to look Bucky directly in the eye.

“Seriously. Don’t worry about it. He’ll get his dues.” Clint smiled and let his hand fall, the fingertips sliding down Bucky’s arm and away. “I’m still grateful for the rescue, though. And for the insult you managed to lob at him. That was pure poetry. The best I was coming up with was trying to do a play off beer pong.”

Bucky snorted and turned to keep walking, purposely moving out in front of Clint. “God, that’s awful. How did you spend all that time sitting and listening to the guy without thinking exclusively in curses and insults?”

“Trade secret.” Clint smiled and winked, then reached up to tap next to his ears. “But the big tip-off is that these have volume control and an off switch.”

“That feels like cheating,” Steve said. “Pretty neat trick, though. Come in handy a lot?”

“Sometimes,” Clint admitted. “And I’ll wring whatever perks I can out of it.”

They all pulled up in front of the apartment, and Steve reached for his keys to unlock the door. Clint sidled up next to Bucky and bumped his shoulder gently. “That’s two I owe you now, right?”

“Thought you didn’t need rescuing from the bridge,” Bucky responded, tilting his head toward Clint.

Steve glanced over his shoulder sharply as he unlocked the door. “The bridge?”

“Long story, tell you later,” Bucky tried, knowing it was only a 50/50 shot that Steve would let that pass. He stepped inside as Steve held the door for everyone.

“I was feeling really upset after my brother died,” Clint explained, following Bucky, “and I climbed out on the Brooklyn Bridge. I was upset and not really thinking. This guy spotted me and made me get off.” He chuckled a little. “Honestly I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you earlier. I mean, how many one-armed superheroes are there in Brooklyn, anyway?”

“Superheroes, huh?” Steve smirked at Bucky. “Always swooping in to save the day?”

“Shut up,” Bucky mumbled. He dropped his eyes to the floor and hoped that the heat on his cheeks wasn’t actually visible to anyone else.

“So you want to come up and hang out for a bit?” Steve offered. “We’ve got some beer if you want to make up for the one you dumped on that asshole.”

Clint checked his watch and sighed. “Nah, I should probably get going. Thanks for letting me walk with you for a bit. I’m gonna grab a cab from here.”

“Or…” Steve elbowed Bucky in the ribs. “Maybe Bucky here could give you a ride home? How far do you live?”

“Not too far. I’m over in Bed-Stuy. But it’s fine, I’ll just take--”

“I can do it,” Bucky growled. “Steve, let him borrow your helmet.”

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.” The little shit grinned again and ran for the stairs, leaving Bucky and Clint standing awkwardly in the tiny hallway. To avoid an awkward stare session, Bucky used his mouth to pull a hairtie off his wrist, where he’d had it in case of emergency.

“You want help?” Clint offered.

“I got it,” Bucky mumbled around the hairtie. He combed his hair back from his face and did his best to gather it at the nape of his neck, then took the hairtie and carefully slipped it around the messy ponytail. 

“You’re good at that,” Clint said. “I don’t think I’d ever be that good with just one hand.”

“Lots of practice,” Bucky replied.

“Yeah.” Clint stared into the middle distance. “How hard do you think it would be to do archery with one arm?”

“What?”

“Sorry, just thinking out loud. Don’t mind me.”

Steve charged back down the stairs, his heavy footsteps making a racket all the way down. He hit the bottom and thrust his helmet toward Clint with a big smile. He held Bucky’s tucked under his other arm and his bike prosthetic in his other hand, and while Clint slipped his helmet on Bucky attached his prosthetic and bent for Steve to help him with the helmet. Once they were both set, Steve gave Bucky a thumbs up and shooed them both out the door.

It took several minutes for Bucky to unlock his bike, first taking off the cover and the locks attaching it to the wrought-iron fence around the tree. Once everything was clear, he got on, unlocked the ignition, and started the bike before tapping the seat behind him. Clint slipped on behind him without a word, his hands going right back to rest on Bucky’s hipbones.

The feeling was...definitely not as strange as it had been the first time. At least not in the same way. Bucky revved the engine before letting it settle into a gentle purr as he put it in gear and eased it out onto the road.

“Which direction?” he shouted back. Clint’s arm snaked out and pointed to the right, so Bucky veered that way. He traveled based on Clint’s pointed directions and forced himself to remain focused on that and not the heat against his back.

“That one,” Clint said eventually, pointing to an old apartment building that looked a little like it was falling apart. Bucky pulled up in front and dropped the kickstand while he waited for Clint to get off and take off his helmet. “Do you just hook this over the handlebars or…?”

Bucky dismounted and flipped up the seat to access the storage space underneath. “Safer this way,” he said with a smile. Clint’s grin in response left Bucky feeling strangely warm. He grunted and coughed to try to cover any emotions attempting to escape. “I’ll see you around, then.”

“Yup. You know where I live now, so I guess I can’t really stop you from dropping by.” Clint slipped his hands into his pocket and looked at Bucky through lowered lashes. “If you felt like it, that is.”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded once, lowered the seat, and hopped back on his bike. “Well. See ya.” He sped away without looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As someone who neither lives in New York nor rides a motorcycle (as well as doesn't use a prosthetic or wear hearing aids), I'm doing a fair amount of guessing on top of my research. If you have any constructive suggestions for how to make things more accurate, I'd love to hear it, but do keep in mind that a little suspension of disbelief is good for the soul.


	3. Something Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Flowershop AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time, but a fluffier one.

The heavy door creaked as it opened, and Bucky glared up at it balefully. Every day he promised himself he’d remember to bring WD-40 to deal with the squeaky hinges, and every day he forgot and the door creaked on.

“James? Is that you?” Elaine, the store manager and owner, poked her head in through the staff door. “Oh good. I’ve got a whole set of orders to deliver today. Here, help me sort these out and get them loaded onto the truck.”

Bucky took the list she waved at him and turned to the stacks of flowers ranged around the back room. He glanced down at the list and his eyes went wide. “So uh, I guess business is going well, then?”

“The delivery portion of it, anyway.” Elaine winked at him. “I suspect it has something to do with my new delivery boy.”

“Or people are just starting to appreciate the work you put into your arrangements,” Bucky huffed. He ignored the heat prickling the back of his neck and stared down at the paper. “Let’s get moving. It’s going to take a while for me to get all of these out.”

“Yes, dear, of course.” Elaine patted his arm gently and turned to one of the rows of potted arrangements. “Which ones are you going to need to do first?”

Bucky scanned the list, checking times and locations on deliveries to mentally sort them and plot out a route. He helped Elaine to put everything into the truck, earliest deliveries nearest the back and the lower priority ones near the back. Then he took the list, donned his monogrammed baseball cap, and went out to start his rounds.

First stop was a nearby hospital, where he delivered each arrangement with a smile and a cheery “Delivery for you from Mama’s Garden.” Seeing people smile as they received their flowers always brightened Bucky’s day a little, and he always liked to swing by the children’s ward and wave at the kids. There was one little girl who’d recently lost a leg, and she would always ask to see Bucky’s prosthetic arm. He always stopped to show off.

Next was a variety of offices, dropping off flowers from secret admirers and things for employee or employer recognitions and birthdays, interspersed with some get well flowers dropped off at people’s houses.

Halfway through his route, he pulled up at an elementary school and collected the assortment of verbana, irises, and periwinkle - listed as “Purple Paradise” at the shop - and carried them inside.

“Delivery for Mr. Barton?” he said at the front desk. 

The secretary, whose nameplate read “Daisy Johnson,” raised her head and looked at the arrangement in shock. “Who bought flowers for Clint?” she asked loudly.

“Uh, we don’t really uh, look at the cards,” Bucky stuttered. His brain caught on the name Clint, but he shook it off. There were lots of Clints in the world and in New York, and he couldn’t afford to get worked up every time someone said the name. “If you’d like to have someone deliver it to him…”

“We’re short on staff today, actually,” Daisy said, leaning over and picking up the phone. “But he should be on break now, so I’ll just have him come by and pick it up.”

Bucky refused to acknowledge even to himself that he was dawdling, but there was definitely no real reason for him to still be standing around. Daisy’d already signed for the flowers. There was no reason for him to still be there. He shuffled his feet slightly awkwardly and leaned toward the door without leaving.

The office door swung open and a blonde man tripped inside. Rather literally. He stumbled and fell forward, and Bucky put out his hand to grab the guy’s elbow and keep him from falling over.

“Aww, shoelaces, no.” Clint looked up at Bucky and gaped for a moment. “Oh. Hey there.”

“Hey, Clint. So uh, this where you work?”

“Yeah. Uh…” Clint pulled his arm back and Bucky realized that he’d never let go of it. He awkwardly stuffed his hand in his pocket to cover his mistake, and Clint reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “So how’s it going? You ask Tasha or someone how to find me?”

“Who? No, I just...I brought you flowers.” Bucky pointed over to the arrangement on Daisy’s desk. “I mean, I delivered the flowers. I didn’t buy you flowers. Someone else bought them and told me to deliver them here, and I just...brought them…” He trailed off, feeling a bit helpless at his complete inability to use real words to explain himself.

“Oh, well, that’s cool. These are...oh, these are really nice. Did you arrange these?”

“No, I’m just the delivery guy. Elaine, she owns the shop, and she does all the arrangements. I’ll let her know you like them.”

“I really do.” Clint picked up the flowers and held them in both hands. “Purple’s my favorite. I wonder who sent them.”

“There’s a card,” Bucky said unhelpfully, as Clint was already pulling out the card and opening it. “But you, uh. You saw that.”

“‘To my best friend. Thanks for everything you do. Here’s hoping I can do something nice for you. Love, Nat,’” Clint read. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at the paper.

“Well that sounds...nice,” Bucky tried. “That a good friend of yours?”

“Yes,” Clint said slowly. “But she’s not the kind of friend who...hmm.” He looked up at Bucky, still with a suspicious expression. “She came in and placed the order?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, I’m not usually in the shop. I’m out on deliveries a lot. Why?”

Clint tucked the card back into the arrangement. “Nothing, I’m just going to have to have words with my best friend for overstepping some boundaries. But thank you, really, for bringing these. They are very beautiful.”

“Yeah, well.” Bucky shrugged. “Maybe next time I’ll bring some by that are actually from me.”

He only had two seconds to wonder what the _hell_ just came out of his mouth before Clint’s big smile lit him up from the inside.

“I’d really like that,” Clint said.

A bell rang suddenly, and Clint jumped like he’d been shot. “Shit, I gotta get back to my room. The kids are gonna be coming back soon. I’ll uh, I’ll see you later? Maybe?”

“Yeah, sure, see you round.” Bucky raised his hand in a wave, and as he brought it down Clint caught it in his own hand and squeezed it gently. Then he pulled the door open and ran out.

“Wow.” Daisy propped her chin on her hand and looked at Bucky. “That was adorable. I’m going to tell Kate. And Jess! Aw, screw it, I’m telling everyone.”

Bucky glared at her and stormed out the door. But once he’d gotten back behind the wheel of his truck, he felt another smile crossing his lips. He looked down at his hand, where he could still almost feel Clint squeezing it. He shook his head at his own ridiculousness, but that didn’t keep the smile off his face as he finished his deliveries.


	4. A Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Hearts

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Bucky sidestepped Kate’s loud approach, only to see something coming at his face from the right. He leaned away quickly and spun to place his back toward the wall, holding the flowers in front of him as a shield. His eyes darted around the room as he assessed threats, and his breath was loud and quick to his own ears.

The door to the front office swung open, and Clint sauntered in. He was wearing a headband with light-up hearts, and his cheek had a large red and purple heart drawn on it. “Hey Bucky!” he chirped with a wave. When Bucky didn’t wave back, though, Clint’s eyebrows furrowed and he stepped forward slowly. “Everything okay?”

“They’re attacking me,” Bucky only just managed to not-whimper. He looked between Daisy, who spun a bright red marker between her fingers, and Kate, who was trying her best to look innocent.

Clint sighed and turned to the women. “Look, how about maybe next time you decide to surprise-decorate someone, you don’t choose the war veteran with PTSD?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Kate said in a voice that she would probably deny was a whine but was most definitely a whine. “We just thought he should get to join in the festivities.”

“I’m already a part of the festivities. I’m delivering the flowers.” Bucky held out the bunch as an example of his hard work. Daisy capped her marker and set it on the desk before stepping forward to take the bunch of roses and baby’s breath. “I’ve got the rest out in the van, if someone wants to help me carry them in.”

“I’ll go,” Clint immediately volunteered.

“Want another set of hands?” Kate offered. “How many roses did there end up being, anyway?”

“189,” Daisy replied. “It was a good fundraiser idea. A lot of the kids got really involved. Even with the cost of the flowers and delivery, we made enough to sponsor another after school club for next semester.”

“Enough for--”

“No, Clint, not enough for an archery club. That’s still a summers-only activity.”

Both Clint and Kate sighed a little at the announcement, though Clint immediately turned to glower at Kate. “What are you upset about?” he asked. “You’re finishing up your student teaching this year, and then you can go on back to your fancy private school where half the students do rowing and half of them do polo and your only problem is wondering which corporate head to ask about outfitting a whole team?”

Kate glared back at him. “Who says I’m going to a private school after this? And who says I can’t be sad that you’re not getting something nice? Not everyone’s quite as self-absorbed as you, Clint.” She clipped his name, making it bite like an insult.

Clint flinched at the reprimand. “Sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Fascinating as this all is,” Bucky interrupted, “this is actually probably my busiest day of the year, and I really do need to get all those flowers brought in, and the more people who can help me the better.”

Daisy sat down at her desk. “I need to man the front. You guys go help get everything brought in, and then we’ll start sorting it out to go to the right classrooms.”

Bucky, Clint, and Kate went back out to the delivery truck, which was still full of flowers. Bucky swung open the back and beckoned for Kate to step forward so he could start piling bunches of roses into her arms.

“Are we your first stop today?” Clint asked, peering into the truck.

Bucky shook his head and set the fifth set of a dozen roses into Kate’s arms. “You’re about halfway down the list. You’re good, Kate.”

Kate started walking back inside and Clint stepped forward with his arms held out. He whistled low. “Busy day, then?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Bucky said with a shrug. He set the last of five dozen roses into Clint’s arms and tucked the last few bundles under his left arm pinned against his side before locking up the truck. “One of the busiest days of the year for a florist. I’m probably going to be working overtime tonight taking all the last-minute deliveries out where they need to go.” The two men walked together back toward the school.

“Oh.” Clint looked a little upset at the thought. “So I guess there’s not much point in me asking if you’re doing anything later?”

“Not really. It’s deliveries all day, then just enough time to go home and shower before I need to fall asleep so I can be up and ready for tomorrow.” Looking at how Clint seemed so crestfallen at the idea, though, Bucky said, “I mean, I could maybe call you? When I’m stopping by to load up the truck for the second round of deliveries?”

“Nah, that’s all right. I wouldn’t want you to accidentally load up the wrong stuff and make your long day even longer.” They stepped into the building together and went for the front office, where Kate was kindly holding the door for them.

Bucky set his bundles of roses down on Daisy’s desk, where they were immediately whisked off to be sorted out. “Well, what about tomorrow? I probably won’t be nearly as busy. We could do something after I get off work?”

“Yeah?” Clint’s smile came back full force, and Bucky ignored the sense of relief that seeing it gave him. “That sounds great.”

“You should exchange numbers,” Kate called from where she was helping Daisy sort flowers.

“Oh, duh!” Clint reached over and grabbed the marker Daisy had been wielding earlier. “Can I write on you?” he asked.

Bucky nodded and dumbly extended his arm, watching as Clint scribbled in pink Sharpie on the back of his hand. When Clint put the marker away, Bucky pulled his hand up to look at it. The number was surrounded with tiny hearts all around.

Clint flushed and rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. It’s Valentine’s Day, you know? Oh! Almost forgot.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a sheet of heart stickers. He pulled off a big one and held it up. “May I?”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed. He held perfectly still as Clint gently placed the sticker on his cheek and patted it into place.

“There, now you look like one of my second graders. Who I need to get back to, and you need to finish up your deliveries, so I will see you tomorrow. Don’t forget to call me!” With that, Clint practically ran out of the office.

Twin loud sighs made Bucky look over to Kate and Daisy, who had given up any pretense of working with the flowers.

“It’s his worst trait,” Kate said to Daisy, shaking her head. “Honestly, I’m surprised he ever made it this far.”

“You think this was him?” Daisy scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “There is a _reason_ I’ve been pushing people to buy flowers for the past two months. The appreciation flowers for teacher of the month, flowers for birthdays, all of it. I called _Luke_ this week and convinced him to get flowers for Jessica sent here. So if anyone’s going to get credit, I demand it be me.”

“I’m going to...go now.” Bucky knew he was bright red, and he mumbled and dashed out as quickly as he could. His hopes that he would forget the overheard conversation were dashed, though, since every time he made a delivery he spotted Clint’s writing on his hand and felt the sticker on his face pulling at his skin whenever he smiled. 

Still, he didn’t pull off the sticker or scrub the number (or the hearts) off his hand.


	5. Action and Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Person A has an allergic reaction to flowers Person B got them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun story true story: I wanted to post on Saturday but was laid up in bed due to (wait for it)... allergies.

**Clint**

**Today** 4:52 PM

 

> Hey. Sorry for rushing off yesterday.
> 
> And sorry for not messaging you.
> 
> This is Bucky, btw
> 
> Oh hey no its cool i know u were bus
> 
> Busy
> 
> Sorry if i mad e u uncomfortable
> 
> No, it's fine. I'm good.
> 
> Did you still want to do something today?
> 
> Yea! What sounds good?
> 
> I don't know. Dinner?
> 
> Ok :) I kno this great pizza place by Herbert von king...we can meet there?
> 
> Ok. I'll see you in half an hour?
> 
> See you soon!

* * *

Bucky stared down at the shirts laid across the bed. He absently fiddled with the phone in his hand. Maybe he should call to reschedule, or let Clint know he was going to be late. Or maybe he should just  _choose a damn shirt, Barnes_. 

"I'm voting for the red henley, if I get a say."

Bucky startled at the sound of Steve's voice. He looked over his shoulder at his best friend, who was leaning against the door frame and grinning. "Nobody asked you," Bucky grumbled. He picked up the shirt in question and threw it back into his closet.

"Sorry," Steve said, walking into the room. The smug bastard didn't look sorry at all. He picked up the henley and laid it across the back of the folding chair Bucky was currently using to store all his clean laundry. "Would you like help choosing a shirt, or are you planning on going like that?" He gestured to Bucky's naked torso.

Snatching a grey t-shirt off the bed, Bucky snapped, "I can dress myself, Rogers. I don't need you babysitting me all the time."

"Fine, fine." Steve held up his hands in submission. "I'll leave you to it. So who are you trying to impress, anyway?"

"No one." Bucky went over to his desk and selected the prosthetic he used for his motorcycle. He carefully began to strap it into place. "I'm just going to dinner with Clint."

Steve's smirk was dangerously mischievous. "That's the guy you rescued from the bridge, right?"

"Didn't rescue him--"

"And who was stuck in that awful blind date?"

"Yes, and your point is?" Bucky finished strapping on the prosthetic and began to wrestle with the t-shirt.

"Nothing. Just didn't know you two were still hanging out."

Bucky yanked the shirt over his head and tugged it down. "I've run into him a couple times while I'm at work. He's nice. I like talking to him."

"That's it?" Steve raised an eyebrow. "He's nice? Lots of people are nice. You don't hang out with them. In fact, you tend more towards associating with raging assholes."

"Like you?" Bucky said with a pointed glare.

"Exactly."

Bucky turned to look in the mirror and glared down at the shirt. He frowned and reached to pull it off.

"I'm telling you. Red henley." Steve held up the proposed shirt, and Bucky snatched it out of his hand. "So seriously. Clint. There's gotta be more to him than 'nice'."

"I don't know." Bucky carefully put his prosthetic into the sleeve of the shirt before pulling the rest of it on. "He's kind of a disaster, really. He's a teacher at an elementary school, and he's always covered in glitter or glue or stickers. One day his shoes were on the wrong feet and his shirt was on inside out, and he tried to tell me it was 'backwards day,' but nobody else was participating."

"Sounds like a real catch."

"That's not--it isn't...ugh." Bucky finally pulled the shirt on all the way and checked the mirror. He reached over to pump some hair cream into his hand and finger-combed it in. "I don't know. I mean, yeah, he definitely looks like he's totally falling apart all the time, but he's also really...accepting, I guess. Like he knows maybe he hasn't got it all together, but he doesn't expect anyone else to be perfect either. And he doesn't really want it. He just takes people as they are, and he appreciates whatever that is." Bucky brushed his fingers through his hair a few more times. "It's nice," he said softly.

Steve, whose expression was visible in the mirror, looked shocked. "Well," he said, scratching at his chin in an obvious nervous tell, "if that's the way you feel about him, then I hope you have a great time tonight."

"Yeah." Bucky ignored the way his stomach flipped over at that statement and instead went to grab his helmet and a jacket from the closet. "Help me on with this?" he asked, holding the helmet out to Steve.

Steve helped Bucky put his helmet on and followed him out toward the door to their apartment. "Oh, hold on!" He loped to the kitchen and snatched up a bouquet of purple daisies and chrysanthemums lying on the table. "You almost forgot these."

Bucky was glad he was wearing his helmet, since it would help to cover the way he was sure his entire face had just gone red. "Um. Those aren't..."

Steve continued to hold them out, a questioning look on his face. Bucky mumbled his way through another few seconds of excuses before snatching the flowers. "Shut up," he growled, then headed for the door.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Steve called after him, only barely holding back a laugh.

"You do realize that doesn't really take anything off the table, right?"

"Have fun!"

"Ass." Bucky practically slammed the door and ran down the stairs. He quickly uncovered and unlocked his bike, tucking the flowers into the storage compartment under the seat and praying they'd stay nice on the drive over. It wasn't that far to Herbert Von King Park, but he was running late due to his... selectiveness in choosing a wardrobe.

He pulled up at the park only a couple minutes late and took the time to take off his helmet and refluff his hair for a moment before collecting the bouquet and heading in to find Clint. The man wasn't difficult to spot, sitting on a bench wearing a black beanie and a big blue coat. He was staring, watching a dog running around in the off-leash area.

"Hey," Bucky said loudly. There weren't many people around, and it fortunately wasn't very windy, which boded well for Clint being able to hear him.

Sure enough, Clint turned and his face lit up. "Hey yourself," he said, standing and stepping toward Bucky. He stopped abruptly and shoved his hands, which had been reaching forward, into his pockets. "You made it."

"Not too hard to find. Sorry I'm late."

"It's all right, I didn't really notice. I got here a little early so I could give Lucky some time to play."

"Lucky?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah." Clint whistled and turned back to the dog. "Lucky! C'mere, boy."

The dog in the off-leash area slowed and turned to Clint but didn't make a move to come closer.

Clint sighed. "Come on, boy!" he called again, pulling a leash out of his pocket. "We're gonna go get pizza!"

At that the dog perked up and trotted over to the gate. Clint stepped through and clipped on the leash before leading the dog out.

"He doesn't respond to his own name, but he'll come when you say 'pizza'?" Bucky asked.

"It's...a work in progress," Clint admitted. "He's a smart dog, though. He'll get it."

Bucky looked down at the dog, whose mouth lolled in a doggy grin. "He's only got one eye."

"And I've got busted ears and you're down an arm." Clint shrugged. "Makes us all a good match."

"Yeah," Bucky mused. "Oh! Nearly forgot. Here." He thrust the flowers in his hand toward Clint. "I picked these out for you. I thought about buying you one of the arrangements that we already sell but, I don't know. I kind of wanted to do something special. And I know you like purple, so..."

Clint's eyes went wide, and he looked at Bucky with a huge smile. "That's...that's really great, Bucky. Thank you." He took the flowers and held them up to his nose, taking a deep sniff. "I really lo-oa-ah-achoo!"

Bucky immediately went from slightly bashful to apprehensive. "Oh no," he whispered. "Did I...?"

"It's fine." Clint sniffed loudly. "Sorry, prolly just...ah...achoo!" He sneezed again, directly into the flowers. "Uh. Maybe take these?"

Bucky snatched the flowers away and began patting at his pockets hoping for some tissues to appear. "I don't...uh...do you have any Kleenex on you?"

"Ad by house," Clint said, pointing. "And Benadryl. I think - achoo! Achoo! Ugh. Bedicine first, then pizza?"

"Yes, right, absolutely." Bucky dumped the flowers in a trash can on his way out of the park. "I brought my bike," he said. "I'll drive us both over and you can go in and get some medicine while I lock it up."

"Kay." Clint rubbed his nose and started following Bucky. Then he stopped and looked down at the leash in his hand. "Uh. Lucky."

"Shit, right," Bucky said, staring down at the dog. The dog that wouldn't fit on the motorcycle. The motorcycle that he couldn't leave here but he couldn't leave Clint and he needed Clint to be okay but he couldn't take care of Clint if there was a dog, and he couldn't leave the dog, so--

"Hey." A hand rested gently on Bucky's shoulder. "Breed."

"What?" Bucky asked, turning to stare wide-eyed at Clint.

"Breed," Clint repeated, miming a deep inhale and exhale. "Deep breff."

Bucky managed a shaky inhale and a quick exhale, followed by a slightly more steady breath. After a few more, he closed his eyes and pinched his nose with his fingers. "God," he said with a huff of laughter. "You're the one having an allergic reaction, but I'm the one having a panic attack over it."

"Z'okay," Clint said. He sniffed and rubbed his nose again. "My place isn't far. I'll walk, you ride. See you there?"

"Yeah, all right." Bucky took another deep breath to steady himself. "I'll see you soon." He peeled off toward where his bike was parked while Clint and Lucky started walking back. He berated himself all through walking over, getting on his bike, riding it the few blocks over to Clint's apartment, dismounting, and locking it up outside. By the time he was done getting it secured, Clint and Lucky had arrived and Bucky felt ready to just call it a day.

He trailed Clint inside anyway and followed him up the stairs to his apartment. The place felt pretty sparse, with minimal furniture and decorations. Steve had made a point to put artwork up in their shared apartment, but Clint only had a dartboard and a longbow hanging up on the wall. Bucky walked around the space, taking note of the few pictures he saw up and the newspapers he saw scattered around. Most of the pictures had several people in them; Clint with Kate or his students, with a man who looked so similar they had to be related, with a blonde and a redheaded woman.

"That's Natasha," Clint said, coming up and putting his chin on Bucky's shoulder while pointing to the redhead. "And that's Bobbi." His finger moved to point to the blonde. "Ex-girlfriend and ex-wife."

Bucky frowned a little. "You were married?"

"For about a year." Clint pulled away and went to the kitchen. "It didn't work out, for lots of reasons. We still get along pretty well, though. Here." He came out and handed Bucky a beer.

"I thought we were going to grab pizza?"

"Next time," Clint said. "I just had to take a Benadryl, which means I'm going to be passed out pretty soon. Hold on." He reached over and pulled a napkin off a stack on the table and used it to blow his nose. "I don't want to take you out to dinner when I'm just going to fall asleep halfway through the meal."

"Oh." Bucky looked down at his shuffling feet. "I guess I should go home, then."

"Wait, no, that wasn't what I meant." Clint reached out to grab Bucky's arm, pulling back just before clasping his wrist. "Please stay? We can sit and talk here until I pass out. And then I can just stay sleeping on the couch and you don't have to worry about trying to carry me back home."

"You really want me to stay?" Bucky asked.

Clint nodded. "We can watch something, if you don't want to talk. I've got all eight seasons of Dog Cops, if you like that show."

"I don't think I've ever heard of it," Bucky admitted.

"Well, then I know what we're doing." Clint moved toward the couch, pulling a tattered blanket off the back. "I'll get the first episode set up, and then I think I've got some frozen pizzas in the freezer that I can throw in the oven."

"All right." Bucky sat down on the couch, pressing himself all the way up into the corner so that his thigh was practically on the armrest. "As long as you're sure I'm not bothering you."

Clint paused in the middle of pulling up the first season of Dog Cops. He turned to Bucky and smiled softly. "You're not bothering me," he said. "I'm really glad I get to spend time with you."

"I fuckin' made you have an allergic reaction to some dumb flowers," Bucky grumbled.

"The flowers were a really nice idea. I didn't even know I was allergic! And it's not like you haven't seen me mess up tons of times, and on stuff that I already knew about." Clint scooted over to sit right next to Bucky on the couch. "Besides, I've already managed to get you to come home with me, and we didn't even have dinner first." He batted his eyes and gave a sly grin.

Bucky grinned back and shoved Clint off. "Fucker," he mumbled.

"Louder, please. I didn't hear that one."

As a response, Bucky held out a middle finger. Clint just laughed and hit play on the show before going over to start the oven and pull out a pizza. Then he came back and sat next to Bucky on the couch. He managed to put in the pizza when the oven was warm and pull it off when the timer went off, but fell asleep with a piece of pizza literally in his mouth and his head lolling on Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky smiled down at Clint before putting the pizza down on the coffee table - with a stern look to the dog to make sure he didn't go stealing what wasn't his, since Clint had already snuck the thing an entire slice - and adjusting Clint. When he tried to move Clint away, though, the man whimpered and clung to Bucky's torso. So Bucky settled for moving Clint down to lie with his head in Bucky's lap with Bucky's hand trailing through his hair. He sat in the quiet of the apartment and watched the next episode of Dog Cops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you all for your kind comments and kudos. I appreciate you taking the time to read and let me know you enjoyed the story.


	6. Accidentally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Accidentally dating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to all - a hellish week at work made for a very late chapter. But I do still have plans to finish this piece, and hopefully I'll be able to get it done within the week. Thank you all for sticking with me so far.

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky walked in and dumped his keys on the kitchen counter. He didn’t bother taking off his shoes, just started to unbutton his uniform shirt while walking toward the bedroom. “Don’t count on me for dinner tonight.”

“Going out with Clint again?” Steve asked from where he was stirring a pot of something on the stove.

Bucky threw the shirt from his delivery uniform toward the closet and yanked off the baseball cap to go with it. “Yeah, he's making dinner and we're having a movie night.” He reached into his dresser and pulled out an old worn t-shirt that he pulled over his head.

“Don’t be out too late,” Steve responded. “I’m not ready for another repeat of the morning of the Walking Dead.”

“First of all, that was one time, two months ago.” Bucky finished tugging the shirt over his head and stepped out of the room, double-checking for his wallet and phone in his pockets. “Second of all, it was a marathon, and it was on a Saturday, so it’s not even like there was an issue with work.”

“All right, whatever you say, Buck. Just next time maybe split up your marathons into easily manageable chunks instead of trying to watch the entire Fast and Furious franchise in one sitting.”

“It’s not a marathon if it doesn’t take at least eight hours, but I promise we won’t watch the entire Fast and Furious series again.” Bucky grinned at Steve and swiped his keys off the counter. “I’m pretty sure we’re starting Mission Impossible tonight, anyway.”

Steve rolled his eyes dramatically. “Whatever. Have a good time and don’t do anything that’ll make you an asshole tomorrow.”

“Impossible, I’m always an asshole,” Bucky said on his way out the door.

“Don’t I know it,” Steve mumbled just before the door closed.

Bucky trotted down the stairs and out to where his bike was parked. He took off the lock attaching it to the fence and started her back up to take the familiar trip back to Clint’s apartment. There he hooked his bike up to the fencing around a tree and replaced the cover on it before heading inside.

He barely rapped at the door before stepping inside, not bothering to wait for Clint’s invitation to come inside. He kicked his boots off at the door and pulled off his helmet to set on the floor next to them.

“You should get--”

“A shelf to put my keys and shit,” Clint said from the kitchen. “You’ve mentioned. Coffee?”

“Sure. Do you have anything else planned for dinner?”

“What do you take me for?” Clint asked, mock offended.

Bucky sidled into the kitchen and glanced at the array of pots and pans on the stove to see which were old and which were holding current food. “An overcaffeinated monster that sometimes forget other food exists.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Clint bypassed all the dishes on the stove and went for a crockpot sitting on the counter, raising the lid and releasing a surprisingly appetizing scent. “I have never forgotten about the beauty of a good pizza.”

Lucky, who had been lying down in the living room, perked up at the sound of pizza and came trotting into the kitchen to start sniffing at the air.

Bucky chuckled at Clint. “That’s fair. So what’s in the pot?” He bent down to scratch the dog behind his ears. Lucky leaned into the touch, sniffed again around the kitchen, and went to go lay down.

“Texas style chili. And I’ve got cornbread in the oven. Grab an oven mitt and check on it, would ya?” Clint stirred the chili with a large spoon, pulling out a small scoop for a taste test. He gently stuck his tongue out, just barely licking the spoon before pulling away. “Shit, that’s hot.”

“You’re telling me those years of drinking straight from the coffee pot haven’t completely destroyed your taste buds?” Bucky grabbed a potholder from the drawer next to the fridge and used it to open the oven and take a look at the cornbread. “This looks done. Clear a spot for me to put it down to cool.”

Clint hurried to clear off part of the counter and put down a few more potholders while Bucky carefully extracted the cornbread. He kicked the oven door back up with one foot as he set the pan down on the prepared spot. Reaching back, he flicked the oven to off while watching Clint dart back in to check on the chili.

“This is done,” Clint said, taste-testing again after letting the spoonful cool this time. “Grab me some bowls?”

Bucky pulled a couple bowls out of the counter and grabbed a knife out of the drawer to start cutting the corn bread. While Clint scooped out the chili, Bucky finished cutting the cornbread and pulled out the butter from the fridge. Clint served cornbread while Bucky grabbed a couple of beers and took them into the living room. Clint followed with the food.

They sat down on the couch, Bucky tucking himself into a corner and pulling his feet up onto the couch while Clint sat on the other end with the remote controls. “Mission Impossible?” Bucky asked, balancing his bowl of food on his chest.

“I’ve gotta be at work early tomorrow. It’s a school assembly,” Clint said with a grimace. “You okay if we save MI for later and just do _Ocean’s Eleven_ tonight?”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” Bucky used his fork to scoop up a mouthful of chili and cornbread together. “Sorry about the assembly. They making you do a lot for it?”

“I’m in charge of doing some performances,” Clint responded. He stood and went over to his DVD collection, which was stacked up next to the television. “Apparently since I used to be in the circus I’m always the go-to guy for showing off in front of a crowd of children.”

“So, what, you don’t like showing off for the kids?” Bucky countered, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

Clint selected the appropriate movie from the stack and began the careful game of Jenga that was required to remove it from the large pile without knocking everything else over. A quick snatch later and he was popping the DVD in place. “I mean, sure, it’s nice to be able to show off sometimes. Even cooler when I can get one of the kids interested in trying something out on their own. But I’m not great at doing all the organizing. I was a circus performer, not the ring leader, you know?” He came back to sit on the couch, pulling the ugly throw blanket off the back and tossing it over his own lap and Bucky’s feet. “And the older I get the more I sort of wish I could just get out of the spotlight. The attention’s not always what it’s cracked up to be.”

“Maybe ask Kate to do it next time.” Bucky’s toes drifted a little closer to Clint as they searched for a little extra warmth. “You said she’s as good as you are.” He lowered his hand down off the edge of the couch and wiggled his fingers in invitation for Lucky, who was starting to perk up again at the sight of his humans settled on the couch. The dog shuffled over to the couch and laid his head on Bucky’s lap for Bucky to scratch behind his ears again.

“Almost as good, yeah.” Clint smiled gently and looked over at Bucky. “It’s a good idea. I wish I’d thought of it sooner.” His smile faded and he prodded at his food.

Bucky did a quick mental calculation. “Oh. It’s the end of the school year, isn’t it? She’s moving to a different school?”

“Yeah.” Clint sighed. “And she’s going to be great, and I’m glad she’s getting the chance to get out on her own, but it’s still rough. Feels a little like being abandoned.”

Bucky actually slid his feet up so that they were tucked up under Clint’s thigh. “I’m not abandoning you,” he said. “And she’s not either. You know she’ll still be sending you stupid messages and asking you stupid questions all hours of the night.”

“Yeah.” Clint managed a small smile and rolled his head back on the couch so he could stare at Bucky. “You’re right. Thanks.”

“Course I’m right. Tell that to Steve for me sometime. Little know-it-all is starting to get all smirky about stuff. Now that he’s started dating again he’s become absolutely insufferable.” Bucky stopped scratching Lucky, who only whined a little bit before curling up to settle on the ground next to the couch.

“Steve’s dating?” Clint absently reached down to pet Lucky’s side before sitting up again and watching Bucky. “What are they like?”

“Hot brunette, could probably kick his ass.” Bucky shrugged. “He’s got a type.”

“Surprised you never made the list, if that’s his type.”

“It sort of came up for a bit. It doesn’t help that I seem to like insufferable blondes. But it was a little weird. I grew up with Steve, and for a while we were growing up in the same house. We’re like brothers more than anything else.”

Clint hummed in agreement. “So you like insufferable blondes, huh?” He grinned and winked at Bucky.

Bucky flushed and kicked at Clint’s ass. “Shut up and start the movie, jerk.”

“I”m starting, I’m starting.” Clint chuckled and hit play on the movie, finally getting it off the loop of the DVD menu.

They enjoyed the movie with their usual enthusiasm, making comments about certain characters or adventures and how they would do something differently or laughing at the complete implausability of the stunts. As everything wrapped up, Bucky stretched and stood to put his bowl in the kitchen. Lucky wandered back over to his bed.

“Thanks for coming over,” Clint said, trailing Bucky into the kitchen with his bowl and their empty beer bottles.

“Thanks for having me. I had a good time.”

“Same. Drive safe heading home. Let me know when you get there.”

“Will do.” Bucky tugged his boots on and held his helmet out to Clint. He pulled his hair back while Clint helped position the helmet for Bucky to pull on. He waved and walked out, jogging down the stairs and out to his motorcycle for the ride home. Later in the evening there was less traffic, and he made it quickly back home. He locked up his bike again and waited until he was climbing up the stairs to text Clint that he was home safe.

On entering his own apartment he kicked off his boots again and took off his helmet, setting it on the small bookshelf there almost expressly for that purpose.

“Buck?” Steve called from the living room. “You’re home pretty early.”

“Yeah, Clint had an early day tomorrow.” Bucky ran his hand through his hair. “We just watched one movie.”

“Still a good date, though?”

“Yeah, we--” Bucky froze midway through reaching to pull off his t-shirt. “Wait, what?”

Steve turned fully to look at Bucky, a confused expression on his face. “What do you mean, what?”

“We were...it wasn’t a _date_ ,” Bucky said with a scowl.

“It wasn’t?” Steve sounded genuinely confused. “I thought...you and Clint aren’t dating?”

“No, we’re just friends.”

“Oh. Huh. Sorry, I guess I just assumed from the way you talk about him and the sort of things you do. Sounded like you were dating.” Steve turned back to his book and Bucky continued toward his bedroom. 

“Wait,” Steve called again and Bucky sighed and turned to look at him. “So all those times you were staying over at his place, you just…?”

“I was drunk,” Bucky said, as though it were obvious. “You don’t drive when you’re drunk, Steve.”

“Right, yeah, no, I get that, I just...really? You’re not dating?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said! Multiple times now, so now that that’s established, can we move on?”

“Okay, sure.” Steve looked back at his book for only two seconds before turning back to say, “Right, but why not?”

“What?”

“Why aren’t you dating?”

“Because we’re not, Steve. This one isn’t hard.”

“Well sure, but, I mean, Buck, I’ve heard you talk about him, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you whenever we all get to hang out. I don’t get it. You guys hang out together and seem to really like each other. I--no, you’re right, I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. Shutting up now.” Steve turned away again with a purpose, snuggling down into the couch a little harder and training his eyes on the book in his hands.

Bucky snorted. “When pigs fly,” he muttered, then headed on back to his room. There he pulled off his shirt and prosthetic, throwing the shirt in the closet and setting the prosthetic next to his bed on the dresser. He yanked off his pants as well and they followed the shirt into a pile of vaguely dirty laundry.

His phone lit up with a message, a small note from Clint saying he was glad Bucky was home safe and wishing him a good night’s sleep. Bucky smiled softly at the message and sat down on the bed to send a quick response.

Halfway through typing up the goodnight message, he stopped and took stock of himself. Sitting on his bed in boxers and socks with a stupid grin on his face, staring down at his phone. His eyes went wide, and he carefully backspaced through the message he was typing. Instead he wrote a quick question and sent it before he could think through it too much. Then he threw the phone on his bed and went to brush his teeth.

A few seconds later he heard his phone buzzing from the bedroom. Toothbrush still in mouth, he went to go answer the phone.

“Herro?” he said into the phone.

“What do you mean ‘ _are we dating_ ’?” Clint said from the other end.

“Hole up, brushin’ mah teeth.” Bucky took the phone with him back into the bathroom and spat out a mouthful of toothpaste. “All right, try again.”

“You brought me flowers, you leave your stuff at my place, we have movie nights every week, we’ve been doing all these dinners together--”

“So we...we _have_ been dating?” Bucky asked.

Clint groaned. “Well I _thought_ we were! Now I guess I’m not sure!”

“But we never said…”

“Well no, but I figured with all the time we were spending together…”

“We’ve never even kissed!”

“I’ve been trying to respect your boundaries! I thought we were just taking it slow!”

“Oh my god.” Bucky groaned and sank down onto the bed again. “Oh my god, we’re just...I’m just...we’re such _idiots_!”

“So...we’re not dating,” Clint said.

Bucky shook his head. “We weren’t dating. Before. But if you want to now, maybe…” He trailed off.

There was a gentle breath on the other end of the line. “Yeah?” Clint asked softly. “For real this time?”

“Yeah.” Bucky glanced up in the mirror and caught himself smiling again. “For real. With the kissing and everything.”

Clint groaned. “Buck, you can’t just say that when you’re not even over here.”

Bucky chuckled. “Next time. You can wait a couple days.”

“Ugh, I guess.” Clint sighed heavily. “But I need to go to bed now. Talk more later?”

“Sure thing. Good night.”

“Night.” 

Bucky hung up the phone and put his toothbrush back in its holder. When he pulled open the bathroom door, though, he found Steve leaning against the wall and smirking.

“So,” Steve said, “you’re dating.”

“Oh shut up.”


	7. Date Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Weekly Date Night

Bucky was just finishing tying his shoes--using a special knot that he could manage one-handed--when there was a loud knock on the door. He stood to answer it, but Steve beat him to the door.

“Hey, Clint,” Steve said with a smile, holding the door open for Clint to step inside. “Here to steal Bucky again?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a pretty big day planned.” Clint stepped inside but didn’t bother to take his shoes off, just bounced a little on his toes. “We’re going to Prospect Park for the day.”

“And we’re going to be out late, so don’t wait up,” Bucky added. He grabbed the backpack he’d packed that morning and slung it over his shoulder.

Steve stepped back again to make room for Bucky to leave. “I hope you two have a good day. Don’t forget to take breaks so you don’t wear out.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky growled.

“We’re doing things in stages,” Clint said. “With lots of wind-down periods. And we’re starting off the day in the perfect way, but only if we leave like, right now. Otherwise we’ll be late.”

“Late for what?”

Bucky shouldered past Steve. “Sorry no time to explain, gotta run.” He closed (and definitely did not slam) the door behind him and tugged Clint by the wrist toward the stairs. “Sorry,” he said, looking back at Clint, “but he’s been kind of overbearing about things recently.”

“It’s all right.” Clint adjusted Bucky’s grip so they were holding hands as they walked down the stairs and out of the apartment building. “Any reason he’s been on your back?”

Bucky shrugged with one arm and looked away before mumbling an answer.

“Didn’t catch that,” Clint said, tugging on Bucky’s hand.

Looking back with a sigh, Bucky faced Clint but kept his line of sight just over Clint’s shoulder as he said, “Had a pretty bad nightmare. That turned into a panic attack.”

“Stress?” Clint asked.

“Sort of. Long day at work, then there was fighting in the apartment next door. The yelling sort of tipped me over, I think.”

Clint nodded and squeezed Bucky’s hand. “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Bucky exhaled loudly. “I’m pretty good now, except for Steve hovering like I’m going to explode again.”

“Well, he’s not here hovering now, and you’ve got a whole day to not worry about it. And that day starts in…” Clint dramatically looked at his bare wrist before grinning up at Bucky. “Twenty-three minutes.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Bucky rolled his eyes and let go of Clint’s hand to pull out his phone. “What time is the feeding?”

“Eleven thirty.”

Bucky blinked in shock at the display on his phone. _11:07_. “Okay, how can you manage to do that and still can’t manage to get your shirt on right way on fifty percent of the time?”

“I’m gifted. Now come on, I really don’t want to miss this.”

Bucky tucked his phone back in his pocket and went over to uncover and unlock his bike. Clint pulled his own helmet on before helping Bucky with his and settled on the bike behind Bucky. The weight of Clint’s arms around Bucky’s waist were a familiar and grounding presence, and Bucky smiled as he pulled away from the curb into traffic.

They pulled up in the zoo parking lot at 11:24. Clint flashed his phone with their prebought tickets, and they walked in just in time to catch the trainers coming out to work with the sea lions.

“Just in time,” Clint said with a huge grin, tugging Bucky close so they could watch together. Once the training session was done, they started wandering through the rest of the small zoo. Bucky really liked the red panda, and Clint kept making bird calls in the aviary that every single bird completely ignored. They made a game out of pretending to be the different animals, giving each one a different voice, accent, and personality. The emu became a lady of high society while the dingo was a seedy mobster and the alpaca was a coffee-drinking computer nerd. Clint just pointed at Pallas’s cat and said “you,” to which Bucky responded by pointing to the baboon and responding similarly. 

Once they’d exhausted all the animal exhibits, they left the zoo and wandered out to sit on the grass of the park underneath a tree. Bucky shrugged off his backpack and pulled out the sandwiches, apples, bottles of water, and slightly-smashed chips he’d carefully packed that morning. He also pulled out a bottle of sunscreen to reapply a layer, or in Clint’s case, carefully place the first layer on his slightly pinking skin.

“This all looks fancy,” Clint said, still spreading sunscreen across his face. “What did you make?”

“Ham and salami for me,” Bucky replied. He reached over to rub in a streak of white on Clint’s cheek with his thumb. “And a couple PB&Js for you. Plus…” He reached into his backpack again for the unopened bag of pizza-flavored goldfish, which he threw to Clint.

“Oh you do love me.” Clint opened the bag and poured some crackers straight into his mouth before offering the bag to Bucky. “Wan fum?”

Bucky reared back a little and looked down at the bag. “I could never deprive you,” he said, trying valiantly to avoid looking at Clint chewing open-mouthed. “Make sure you drink the water, too.”

“Mmm.” Clint nodded and grabbed the water bottle, chugging half before opening a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and stuffing most of it in his mouth.

Bucky focused on his own food after that, eating quickly but with actually human-sized bites. He finished off with the apple and packed all his garbage together in the empty sandwich bag before dropping it back into the backpack. He finished off his water and put the bottle into his bag as well. Then he held it out for Clint to put all his trash in.

“You ready to keep going?” Clint asked.

Bucky scooted closer to Clint, until their arms were pressed together. “Let’s just sit here for a bit. It’s nice.”

“Okay.”

They sat in silence together, enjoying the warm weather and the sounds of the people passing. Bucky’s eyes drifted closed, and his head fell softly to rest on Clint’s shoulder. Their hands intertwined in the grass between them.

“What did you have in mind next?” Bucky asked eventually.

Clint grunted and shifted to scratch at his belly. “If you’re up for it, I thought I’d kick your ass at a game of horse.”

“Oh, you’re on.” Bucky grinned widely as he pushed himself up. He swung his backpack over his shoulder and reached down to give Clint a hand up. They both wandered back over to the parking lot and took the motorcycle down to the Parade Ground. Bucky pulled out more bottled water for each of them and they reslathered themselves with sunscreen before heading over to the basketball courts.

The hardest part proved to be finding a basketball, since Clint hadn’t managed to bring his own, but they finally managed to borrow one from a group of guys who had an extra. Once they’d managed to attain both a ball and an open hoop, they played a game of rock, paper, scissors to see who’d shoot first. Bucky won the round and lined up at the freethrow line to make his shot. “Jump shot,” he called, and the ball went sailing through the net.

“Not bad.” Clint lined up and made the same shot before passing the ball back to Bucky.

They shot twenty baskets without either person missing a single shot. Clint perfectly mimicked each of Bucky’s throws, including hook shots and straight ins.

“Not bad,” Bucky said after a difficult shot from across the court. “Didn’t think you’d be so good at this.”

Clint grinned. “I’ve got _some_ talents. Aim happens to be one of them. You should see me when I’ve got my bow. That’s when I can really manage some cool tricks.”

“I’ll have to watch you sometime. For now...do you want to try shooting first for a bit?”

“Sure.” Clint accepted the ball Bucky threw his direction. He dribbled the ball slowly back to the half-court line, sizing up the basket for a bit. Then he turned around so his back was to the basket, took the ball in both hands, and heaved it over his head. The ball fell with a gentle swoosh right through the net. 

Bucky’s mouth fell open in the same moment. “Seriously?”

Clint laughed in response. “I’m glad you like my party trick. Ready to give it a try?”

“Right, yeah, I’ll just throw it back over my head with both arms,” Bucky grumbled, though he caught the ball and started dribbling it anyway. 

“Just use one arm. Here, I’ll help. Come here.”

Bucky walked over to where Clint was and stood with his back to the basket and the ball held out in front of him.

“Okay…” Clint stood in front of Bucky and moved his hand slightly to the left and right. “All right. Now, remember you’re at half-court, so you know the amount of force to put in it. Try to send that directly back, just like this.” He raised Bucky’s arm up and down a few times to show him the motion. “Got it?”

Bucky frowned, his brow furrowed, and kept his eye on the ball. “I think so. But if it misses wildly I’m blaming you.”

“You’ll do fine.” Clint stepped back. “All right, whenever you’re ready.”

Bucky took a deep breath and tossed the ball over his head. Then he immediately whirled and watched it go straight through the hoop. “Yeah!” he shouted, pumping his fist in the air. He spun and caught Clint’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. “That was awesome!” he said, a smile wide on his face.

Clint smiled back at him. “If you think that was cool, wait until you see what I’ve got planned for you tonight.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

Bucky laughed and shoved his boyfriend away. He went jogging down the court to grab the basketball. “All right, hot stuff,” he said, throwing the ball back to Clint. “Give me your best shot.”

They played for a while longer, mostly making incrementally more ridiculous trick shots until the guys they’d borrowed the ball from said they were heading out. Bucky finished his water as they walked back to the motorcycle and started fishing around for another.

“You’re like a damn boy scout, aren’t you?” Clint asked.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Bucky said.

“No, I’m mostly just amazed. What must it be like to actually have your life together?”

“Ask someone who has his life together. This just helps me fake it pretty well.”

“You fooled me.” Clint folded his arms around Bucky’s waist again as he embraced him from behind. “Ready to go find dinner?” he asked, placing a kiss on Bucky’s neck.

“Sure. Hot dogs again?”

Clint spluttered and pulled away. “Yes, but first give me some of that water. I forgot how covered in sweat and sunscreen you are.” He wiped his mouth as Bucky laughed and pulled out another water bottle.

They pulled the bike around again before wandering around to look for a good hot dog stand. Once they’d both managed to order and get their food, they settled onto one of the benches and ate. The sun began to set, and Clint scooted in close to Bucky.

“It’s starting to get cold,” he said, looking over at Bucky with innocent eyes.

Bucky let his arm bump Clint’s. “Then I guess we’re going to have to sit right next to each other during the concert.”

“Mm, I think you read my mind.”

They finished their food quickly again and walked over to the bandshell, where chairs had already been set up in anticipation of the performance for the night. A few people were hanging around waiting to get in and grab their seats, but instead of waiting with them Bucky and Clint went over into the grassy area behind the seating area and sat down right up against each other. They talked quietly as dark fell more fully and the bandshell filled with people.

Once the band actually came out and began to play, they gave up trying to talk, since Clint couldn’t hear anyway with the sound of the band and the lack of light to read Bucky’s lips. Instead they began to kiss and sway a little in time with the music. Bucky leaned back on the grass and made out with his boyfriend to the sound of a live rock band, and he let go of his stress and worry to just enjoy the moment.

They left before the concert was over as a way to avoid the crowds. Bucky drove back to Clint’s apartment and locked his bike up for the night before trailing his boyfriend upstairs.

“I had a really nice time today,” he said, kicking his shoes off just inside the door of Clint’s apartment. “Thanks for taking me out today.” He bent over to pet Lucky while Clint refilled his food dish. The dog trotted away to eat rather than sticking around for more attention from Bucky.

“Absolutely. I had a good time, too. Thanks for coming with me.” Clint reached over to help take off Bucky’s helmet. “And if you think you’re still up for it, I think I’m ready to have a good time tonight, too.” He waggled his eyebrows again.

Bucky laughed at the corny gesture and hauled his boyfriend in for another kiss. “I love you,” he whispered, just loud enough for Clint to hear it.

“I love you, too,” Clint said and leaned in for another kiss. “Now come on, let’s go to bed.”

Bucky took off his prosthetic arm and showered while Clint took Lucky out for a walk, then he swiped some brownies off the counter to eat while Clint was showering. They took turns brushing their teeth and crawled into bed together. Lazy kisses turned into cuddling turned into gentle snores as both men, exhausted from their day out, fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter. Thanks for sticking with me so far! I hope to get the final chapter up tomorrow.


	8. Will You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me! I hope you enjoy the ending of this story.

Bucky slid his leg over Clint’s and settled onto his lap. His right hand stroked the soft lines of Clint’s ribs nestled between his knees before drifting up underneath his t-shirt to tease at his nipples. He pulled Clint’s bottom lip into his mouth and felt Clint clutch at his left bicep. As the television played on in the background, he ground his hips down. He threw his head back and moaned loudly.

“You guys are going to be late for your--Jesus Christ, man!” Steve, who had just walked into the living room, threw his hand up and looked away. “You gotta do that while I’m around?”

“Sorry, Steve,” Bucky said, not feeling sorry in the slightest. “Guess I couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna be late for your reservation if you don’t leave soon, so maybe get out of his lap and leave me alone while my eyes are still intact.”

“Now that would be a real tragedy,” Clint said, his hands still firmly on Bucky’s hips. “You have such nice eyes. Though, they’re nothing compared to my boyfriend’s.”

“All right, that’s enough. Go take your date somewhere else and leave me to enjoy my documentaries.” Steve made a shooing motion with his hands and sat on the other end of the couch from where Clint and Bucky were still intertwined.

Bucky pulled himself up off Clint and offered his hand to help him up. “Don’t lie, Steve, we all know you’re going to end up watching some horrible reality show that you’ll later deny knowing anything about.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve pointedly switched the television over to Netflix.

“You know, Bucky,” Clint whispered conspiratorially, “I’m getting the distinct feeling that Steve doesn’t want us here.” He ran his fingers down Bucky’s arms until they folded around his hand. “Come on. I know where there’s a restaurant with our name written on it. In it. In their reservations book? How would you say that?”

Bucky gave Clint a quick peck on the cheek. “I wouldn’t. But I get the idea. Let’s go.” He scooped his coat off the coat rack and slid it on, stuffing his hand in the pocket and patting at his pants to make sure he had everything for the night. He held open the door for Clint to go in front of him.

“Have a good night!” Steve waved and gave Bucky a big wink. Bucky flipped the bird at him before closing the door and following Clint to the stairs.

Clint looked over at Bucky’s empty arms. “No motorcycle tonight?”

“We’re taking a taxi,” Bucky replied, already stepping to the curb to flag down a cab. “I didn’t want us to get our suits dirty on the ride over.”

“But grinding on the couch is totally fine,” Clint said with a grin.

A taxi pulled up next to the sidewalk, and Bucky opened the back door for Clint. “Are you saying you don’t want to grind on the couch anymore?”

“No, no, far be it for me to question your logic.”

“Where to, gentlemen?” the driver asked.

Bucky gave him the name of the restaurant, and he and Clint talked quietly in the backseat the entire drive over. On arrival, the host offered to take their jackets before leading them back to their reserved table in the back corner. Bucky carefully shrugged his jacket off and passed it over to be hung up, patting his pockets again as he followed Clint back to their seats.

Dinner itself was pretty quiet, though Bucky could feel his nerves ramping up the entire time they were sitting there. As they both finished off their entrees, he began to look around the restaurant furtively and running his hand up and down his jacket and pants every couple minutes.

“Hey,” Clint said finally. “Is everything okay?”

“What?” Bucky jumped a little and looked back at Clint, who was leaning across the table with a concerned expression.

“Are you feeling all right? If you’re getting too stressed or something we can go home.”

“What?” Bucky repeated. “No, no, it’s not...I’m just…” He nervously tapped at his side again before placing his hand flat on the table. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you, and I’m not sure how to do it.”

“Okay…” Clint said, looking a little concerned. “Well, you know you can tell me anything. It’s okay.” He reached across the table to place his hand on Bucky’s. “Don’t worry. I won’t be mad.”

Bucky took a deep breath to steady himself, mentally going over again the speech he’d rehearsed over and over again in the mirror. “Two years ago,” he began, “was the best day of my life.”

A spark of light grew in Clint’s eyes, and he smiled a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded. “That was the day I got my motorcycle.”

Clint’s smile faded, and he instead just looked confused. “Okay…?”

Bucky sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Maybe I’m not...it’s just...so here’s the thing. I got my first chance to ride when I was ten, and I got my first bike when I was sixteen. I loved that little thing. It was this old, sweet little cruiser, and my dad picked it up for a song off his dry cleaner. I rode it everywhere. Had it right up until I joined the army, when I gave it to my little sister to take care of until I got back. Except when I got back, it was because I’d gotten my arm taken off when an IED blew up my truck and I fell off a cliff. And I couldn’t ride anymore.”

He looked down at the table. “It took me years of therapy. There was the physical therapy, first, plus the other kind of therapy. And I was finally getting better. So I decided, fuck it. I’m going to ride my motorcycle again. Except the one I had was a left-hand clutch and was going to be a bitch to modify, plus it was just getting old. So instead I started taking lessons to ride with a prosthetic and saving money to buy a brand new bike, a custom one. Then I finally got it.” He looked back up at Clint, who still seemed confused but had a small, sad smile on his face.

“I got that bike, and it was the best thing that had happened to me up until that very moment. But as much as that meant to me, getting that bike isn’t the reason why that was the best day of my life. Because when I took her out on her maiden voyage, I decided to go across the Brooklyn Bridge, and I saw some idiot climbing out onto the struts, and I yelled at him to get down.” Bucky kept his gaze on Clint, who had lifted a hand to his mouth and had tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. “And meeting him, meeting you, was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out the small box he’d been playing with all evening. He slid down to kneel on one knee and flipped the box open. “Clint, the day I met you was the best day of my life. Will you make today the new best day of my life and say that you’ll marry me?”

Clint stared down at Bucky and the ring for several seconds, his mouth gaping open and shut a few times. “You...really?” he finally managed to say.

“Really,” Bucky said with a warm smile. “Clint, you mean so much to me, and I just...every moment with you makes me so much happier that I met you. And I want to keep spending as many moments with you as possible.”

Clint took a shuddering breath, like he was holding back tears. “But I’m such a mess,” he said.

“You’re beautiful. And you don’t always have everything put together, and you do things that are really stupid sometimes. But that doesn’t make you broken. It’s just who you are, and I love it, and if what you have is a mess, then it’s one I want to have in my life forever.”

“God, Buck.” And that was definitely a sob coming from Clint, who tucked his arms in around his sides. “I never thought...I thought you were going to tell me you didn’t want to date anymore.” He forced a single chuckle.

“What?” Bucky got up off his knee and slid into the booth next to Clint. “Why would you think that?”

“I’m such a fuck-up, Bucky. I mean, for god’s sake, you found me on the Brooklyn Bridge after my criminal brother had gotten himself killed. You’ve seen me at school with the kids, shirt backwards and falling all over. You know what my apartment looks like. I’m a disaster, and I don’t know why anyone would want to be with me. I was just glad we got as long a time together as we did.” Despite his words, Clint’s hands fisted in Bucky’s jacket and he drew him in close to bury his face in Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky wrapped his arm around Clint. “Don’t you see, though? I’ve seen you during all that. When you were falling apart or just being your normal self. And you’ve seen me in a panic attack and helped me through it, and you put up with me even though I tried to kill you with flowers, and you know all about my fucked up past and you never even blinked. You took me in exactly as I was and told me I had value, not for who I used to be or who I could be but because of who I am. And you have value, too, Clint, exactly as you are. I love you the way you are, and I’m sorry you don’t see how amazing you are. But I do see it, and, and Clint? Clint, look at me.”

Clint drew back his face just enough to look Bucky in the eye. “Yeah?”

“If you want, I’m willing to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much you mean to me. How does that sound?” Bucky held out the engagement ring again between them.

Clint looked down at the ring and laughed again, this time a little more sincerely. “Okay,” he said, a little wetly due to some not-quite-shed tears. He wiped his face with one hand. “Yeah, all right. Let’s do this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Clint pulled out the ring and slipped it on his finger. “Let’s get married.”

Bucky smiled and pulled his fiance in for a long kiss. _This_ , he thought, _is the best day of my life._


End file.
